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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24695383">and I'll write you a tragedy</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettersfromnowhere/pseuds/lettersfromnowhere'>lettersfromnowhere</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Avatar: The Last Airbender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Lowkey More Izumi Centric than Expected, Mutual Pining, Sort Of, Unrequited Love, sounded better in my head</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:01:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,617</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24695383</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettersfromnowhere/pseuds/lettersfromnowhere</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The best stories start off true. The worst ones end that way. And sometimes, what’s meant to be takes a lot of near-misses.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Izumi &amp; Katara, Izumi &amp; Zuko (Avatar), Katara/Aang (referenced), Katara/Zuko (Avatar), Mai/Zuko (referenced)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>148</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Casutama/gifts">Casutama</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was a great idea in my head. It was supposed to be this masterwork of angst. Then I ended up writing a fic with more literary analysis from an Izumi who's probably wildly OOC (bc I've never watched TLoK) than character work. </p><p>Oops.</p><p>Nevertheless, the idea was a good one before it went off the rails. I really gotta stop overestimating my angst-writing skills. HUGE shoutouts to Liliana and @endlesstangents on Tumblr for talking me through this.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Tell me one that really happened!”</p><p>Izumi was practically bouncing with anticipation, the mattress jostling underneath her. Her eyes were wide – whether with excitement or in an attempt to sway him, Zuko didn’t know – and he could tell that his daughter had been thinking about this all day, deciding what story to request. </p><p>(It was a bit of an occasion, Zuko having enough space in his evening schedule to read to her before her bedtime, and neither of them ever missed a rare opportunity. Izumi may have been eight, but she was easily smart enough to know that there were ways to make the most of those days - like this.) </p><p>“Well, all the best stories are a little bit true,” he started, hoping she didn’t catch the fact that he had <em>no </em>idea what to tell her. He held up the scroll he’d brought with him. “So really, <em>Love Amongst the Dragons </em>is a-“ </p><p>“You always read that one,” Izumi pouted. “I wanna hear a story that’s <em>actually</em> true this time.” </p><p><em>Well, there goes that argument.</em> Resistance was futile and he knew it, so Zuko set the offending scroll aside and turned back to Izumi, who was leaning forward on her elbows, the picture of excitement. “Well, if that’s what you want…got anything in mind?”</p><p>Izumi thought for a minute. “Something that happened when you were my age,” she requested.</p><p>Zuko nearly broke into a cold sweat at that because there was a reason he didn’t talk much about his childhood with Izumi. There weren’t all that many stories from his childhood that he’d want her to hear, but he wasn’t about to deny his daughter…well, anything, so he wracked his brain for a moment and came up with something he knew she’d like. “Have I ever told you about Ember Island?” </p><p>Izumi shook her head and settled in, and Zuko began. He’d never thought of himself as a particularly good storyteller, and there was little form or structure or even continuity to his account of the weeks on Ember Island before the war’s end, but Izumi didn’t seem bothered. She was rapt as he told her about training with Aang, about tea around the campfire - the better parts of his memories, leaving out the moral quandaries and the pervasive sense of impending doom. She was hanging on his every word even without the danger, and by the time he told her about Toph’s turn as the Melon Lord, she was giggling like mad, delighted with this new information she had about her beloved, if intimidating, honorary aunt. </p><p>(Zuko’s heart broke a little at her innocence, the <em>purity</em> of that laugh when she had no idea what really happened. He hoped she’d never change, though he knew she would whether he liked it or not.) </p><p>It was a lighter week, and he found himself sitting with Izumi every evening. Soon he was running out of stories again after a masterful feat of sanitization made the stories of of Yon Rha and Boiling Rock palatable to a eight-year-old. She’d loved them, but now he was at a dead end. </p><p>“Um...” Zuko paused. “Have I ever told you about the Cave of Two Lovers?” </p><p>Izumi shook her head. </p><hr/><p> “So, I’ve been thinking.”</p><p>The moment Zuko entered Izumi’s room before bed for the first time in weeks, <em>Love Amongst the Dragons </em>optimistically tucked under his arm in the highly unlikely event that she’d ome around, Izumi met his eyes with a purposeful look well beyond her years. He almost laughed – her businesslike words and expression seemed comically out-of-place on such a young girl. But Izumi had never exactly been typical.</p><p>“Tell me,” he said, taking a seat at the edge of her bed. “What’ve you been thinking about?”</p><p>“I really liked the cave story you told me,” Izumi replied, nevertheless crossing her arms in displeasure. “The one with Oma and Shu?”</p><p>“The Cave of Two Lovers,” Zuko reminded her. She nodded, evidently having forgotten the title and relieved to have filled in that gap in her knowledge. (Izumi did not like unknowns. There was a reason she was known around the palace as an incorrigible snoop.)</p><p>“The Cave of Two Lovers,” Izumi repeated. “Right. That one. So anyway. I liked it.”</p><p>For a moment, Zuko was almost relieved. “Oh! Do you want to hear it again?” <em>Please say yes, </em>he internally pleaded. It was an easy story to retell and it would save him the trouble of having to figure out how to water down a story from his childhood, or – Agni forbid – make up his own. He loved this time with his daughter, but it was not nearly this stressful when he could rely on someone else for the story rather than comply with Izumi’s increasingly difficult story requests.</p><p>Izumi shook her head, though, and he almost sighed. <em>Of course she doesn’t. </em>Izumi was too bright to make things easy for her old man. “I want a story that’s <em>like </em>that,” she says.</p><p>“Like it…how?”</p><p>“About…” she paused, probably searching for some forgotten piece of information. “What’s that thing you said where people are in love and they can’t be together?”</p><p>“Unrequited love?” Zuko provided, wondering why <em>that </em>concept, of all things, was the one that stuck in Izumi’s brain.</p><p>(He found it very ironic, considering his own circumstances and the fact that he’d <em>never </em>wish such a state on Izumi.)</p><p>“Yeah! Unrequited love!” her face lit up. “I wanna hear a story about <em>that!” </em></p><p>“Why?” Zuko asked gently, his voice laden with curiosity and a little concern but no judgement. “That’s pretty sad. Don’t you want to hear something happier?”</p><p>“No, all of your stories have happy endings,” she told him. (There was a reason for that, though she hadn’t picked up on it.) “It’s getting boring.”</p><p>“You are your mother’s daughter,” Zuko muttered under his breath, hoping she didn’t hear him. (He knows she did, though, at a sharp intake of breath. They talked about Mai so rarely that Izumi took any mention of the mother she didn’t remember to heart.) “Um…let me think.”</p><p>“I have time,” Izumi said cheekily, knowing she’d only extend her bedtime if her father needed time to think of a story. She settled into the red satin of her pillowcases, arms still crossed over her chest.</p><p>“Oh, I got one.” Zuko cleared his throat, wondering for a moment if he was actually insane enough to unload this on a eight-year-old before going ahead with it because it was all he could think of and he was <em>not </em>going to let Izumi down when they hadn’t done this in three weeks. “Um, once upon a time, there was a prince, who, um…had heard about a group of benders…who had special abilities. He needed their help, to, um…restore peace to the world, so he spent months trying to track them down so he could…um. Join them.” Zuko almost laughed to himself at the explanation of his search for the Avatar – that was one way to put it.</p><p>(He wasn’t about to throw in any details that would clue her in about the origin of this story.)</p><p>“So he found them,” Zuko continued, hitting his stride now that he’d cleared the most problematic part of the story without any suspicion from Izumi. “And he asked to join them, but one of the benders didn’t want his help. She didn’t like that he’d been following them-“</p><p>“I wouldn’t either,” Izumi interrupted. “That’s just creepy.”</p><p>Zuko shook his head fondly and kept going. Izumi usually inserted her opinions into stories this way; it was expected at this point. “So even though the rest of the group let him join, that one didn’t trust him. It made him sad, because he really wanted her to-“</p><p>“What was the bender’s name?” Izumi asked. “What kind of bender was she? Why didn’t-“</p><p>“I can’t remember,” Zuko said hastily. <em>I should’ve known you’d ask that, </em>he thought, wishing he’d anticipated the question and come up with a codename or something before he’d begun. “Um…you decide what her name is.”</p><p>“Well, <em>obviously, </em>she’s a firebender,” Izumi decided. “I’m gonna call her…ummm…Mariko.”</p><p>Zuko smiled to himself – Mariko was a playmate of Izumi’s – and nodded. “Good choice. Anyway. So, the Prince wanted Mariko to trust him, so they went on a special trip together. And-“</p><p>“That’s when they fell in love?” Izumi guessed.</p><p>“Well, sort of.” <em>Yes. </em>“On their journey, they really <em>talked </em>to each other for the first time. They…discovered that they had a lot in common, but they also…complemented each other. They went together well. And the Prince realized while they were traveling that…Mariko…was beautiful, and strong, and determined.”</p><p>“…and fell in love with her,” Izumi finished,</p><p>“No, not quite.” <em>Pretty much. </em>“After they returned from their trip, Mariko finally forgave him for following them, and they were friends. Then they had to face some dangerous people, and they saved each other’s lives – that’s when the Prince realized that he loved Mariko. But he still didn’t say anything.”  </p><p>“But what if she loved him back?” Izumi asked.</p><p>“Well, he didn’t think she did, because, um. Well. Mariko had seemed like she liked him that way for a little while, but then another boy fell for her, too.” He brushed hair out of his eyes, as much to momentarily conceal his regretful expression as to clear his vision. “He was the first to have the courage to say something about his feelings, and Mariko chose him over the Prince.”</p><p>“But <em>why?</em>” Izumi cried, utterly indignant.</p><p>“Well, it was always up to her,” Zuko deflected. “She got to choose who would make her happier, and besides, I guess it was the Prince’s fault that he never said anything. “And then things got messier, because the Prince became King, and a girl from his past showed up again. And he couldn’t have Mariko, so he let the other girl love him.”</p><p>“He shouldn’t have given up.” It almost made Zuko smile to know how much Izumi was taking the side of his Prince without even knowing who he was. “He shoulda said something if he loved her.”</p><p>“Well, I don’t disagree with that,” Zuko agreed. “But Mariko’s boyfriend was one of the Prince’s best friends. He didn’t want to make them both unhappy by telling Mariko how he felt.”</p><p>“I guess that makes sense,” she conceded grudgingly. “Anyway. What happened next?”</p><p>“Well, things got busy. They had their partners, didn’t see each other that often anymore,” Zuko continued. “But they kept writing to each other, and they were best friends. The Prince – wait, no, King – decided to be grateful for that. That they’d always be friends, even if Mariko was never going to know that he loved her…in other ways. He told himself that he was fine with that. But then…”</p><p>Zuko had to pause to take a breath. He hadn’t expected a simple story, one that replayed in his mind so often, to be so much harder to take when he told it out loud.</p><p>“Yeah?” Izumi asked.</p><p>“But then Mariko wrote and told him that she was getting married.” The memory of that letter still felt like a punch to the gut.</p><p>“No,” Izumi whispered. “But the Prince hasn’t even said he likes her yet!”</p><p>“Yeah. He was pretty sad when he got that letter,” Zuko agreed. “But of course, they were his best friends, so he went to their wedding anyway. The night before the ceremony, Mariko asked if she could talk to him.”</p><p>“Ooh, is she gonna-“</p><p>“No,” Zuko sighed. <em>If only. </em>“Mariko told him that she was nervous, because she was so young when she met her fiancé that she didn’t even know if she loved him for real, or if…she’d just assumed that was how things were supposed to be. She was scared that she was making a mistake. The King tried to tell her it would be okay, but…she started crying.”</p><p>“Because she realized she was in love with him?” Izumi asked hopefully. <em>Gotta love the optimism, </em>Zuko thought, reflecting a little bitterly on the fact that his daughter’s attitude had once been his own.</p><p>“Maybe. She didn’t say that, but maybe.” Zuko couldn’t meet her eyes. “But even after that, she still got married. And the King tried to be happy for his friends, but it was hard for him when he loved Mariko so much.” He took another deep breath. It still felt fresh and that terrified him. “And after the ceremony, he couldn’t take it anymore, and he went up to his rooms and cried.”</p><p>“And did Mariko-“</p><p>“No.” Zuko had to bite his lip to keep his voice from wavering. “Mariko and her new husband went off together, and the King never knew if they were happy, but he always remembered how scared Mariko had been the night before the wedding.”</p><p>“It doesn’t sound like she really loves him,” Izumi commented.</p><p>“No, she did love him,” Zuko sighed, “but I don’t think things turned out the way that she expected them to. And the King felt the same way after he got married-“</p><p>“Oh, come on!” Izumi cried. She’d never been one to conceal her opinions, and a traitorous part of Zuko’s brain couldn’t help but be reminded of someone else. “They <em>both </em>got married to other people?”</p><p>“Hey, you’re the one who wanted unrequited love,” Zuko points out, trying to smile through the evident pain on his face. “So they got married, and they tried to pretend their feelings went away, but maybe they didn’t. And the King wondered every single day what might’ve happened if he’d said something sooner.”</p><p>He froze, and Izumi’s face fell. “That’s it?”</p><p>“Uh…that’s all I remember,” he fibbed unconvincingly.</p><p>“That can’t be it,” Izumi protested.</p><p>“Didn’t you <em>just </em>say that happy endings were boring?”</p><p>Izumi pouted, and it was all Zuko could do not to cry as he tucked her in and made the lonely journey back to his huge, empty chambers, because if even a child could see what he’d missed…</p><p>He didn’t know why he’d brought this up, picked <em>that </em>story to tell, of every story he knew. He didn’t understand what had possessed him to dredge up memories he’d spent so long trying to bury. He couldn’t fathom how he could be so underhanded as to admit to his only daughter, the light of his life, that her own late mother had never been his true love.</p><p>He hoped she’d forget and tried to do the same.</p><hr/><p>
  <strong>Seven Years Later</strong>
</p><p>“Your Highness?” a servant poked her head through the doorway of Izumi’s bedroom. “Delivery for you.”</p><p>“Oh!” Izumi swung her legs down from her bed, where she was studying a history text that one of her tutors had assigned earlier in the week. “My books?”</p><p>“It would appear so.” The servant glanced down at the stack of brown paper-wrapped parcels in her arms, and carried them into the room to set on the bedside table. But Izumi, in her excitement, met her halfway, taking the parcels from her arms and running off with a hasty “thank you!” over her shoulder.</p><p>She tore into the paper, running her fingers over the elegant covers of the books she’d ordered in. <em>Folk Stories of the Earth Kingdom, </em>one said; another’s cover bore the words <em>Lesser-Known Myths of the Fire Nation. </em>Izumi grabbed a well-worn scroll from her desk, set it aside, and leaned against the pillows with the Earth Kingdom anthology propped against her knees. <em>Maybe I’ll find it here, </em>she thought hopefully, flipping to the page indicated in the Table of Contents as beginning the “Cave of Two Lovers” story. A little dust cloud rose as she cover hit her knees.</p><p><em>These are old, </em>she observed. <em>Hopefully that bodes well for me.</em></p><p>This, Izumi thought, was her best shot. Though stories about forbidden or unrequited love weren’t uncommon, the Cave of Two Lovers was the most similar story she’d found to the one her father used to tell her. Since it originated in the Earth Kingdom, she was hopeful that she’d find a clue as to the origin of her father’s “Mariko and the Prince” story (the title she’d given it in lieu of knowing its real one) in an Earth Kingdom text. It seemed logical – but none of the books she’d looked at thus far had yielded any answers. Hopefully this one, older and far more obscure, would have what she was looking for.</p><p>It had been years of this: asking her father to repeat “Mariko and the Prince” over and over again despite the look of obvious discomfort on his face whenever she mentioned it, then writing the story down and fleshing it out every time his retelling yielded a new detail; consulting every tutor she had and every scholar in the palace about the story; cross-referencing the scroll that now sat beside her with every book in the palace library for similarities. She’d read endless anthologies of folktales, historical narratives, and even romance scrolls in her search for its origins, and at thirteen, failing to find anything like “Mariko and the Prince” in the books available to her, she’d begun to order in texts from the other nations, wondering if perhaps the story wasn’t of Fire Nation origin.</p><p>Two years later, she’d had no luck, so she was focusing her search on small details, wondering if perhaps the story her father had told her had been a mashup of several different stories. It would explain her failure to find the tale in its entirety anywhere, and her father’s reluctance to reveal anything about it; perhaps he didn’t know because it didn’t exist in that form. But what Izumi was certain of was that it had to be somewhere. Her father hated being asked to make up stories on the spot, she remembered, and “Mariko and the Prince” was far too specific and detailed to have been improvised. It had to be out there somewhere.</p><p>So Izumi combed the book for answers, checking details from her written copy against those in the folktales she was reading, making notes on a second scroll of any commonalities she found. It was a tiring endeavor, and many had questioned her decision to spend most of her free moments in the last several years holed up in her room analyzing obscure texts, but she didn’t mind.</p><p>Palace life could be lonely with no family but a busy father and few friends to speak of, and stories had always been her escape. Perhaps that was why this one had taken root in her mind the way it had, refusing to give her a moment’s rest until she figured out how things ended for Mariko and her Prince. It was a purpose she could strive for when life became unbearably tedious or unbearably isolated.</p><p><em>Closure.</em> That was what she wanted. Closure on a story whose ending she’d always hated. Proof that she, at least, had a fine mind to make up for the lack of social graces (she was the bane of her etiquette teachers’ existence) or friendships she possessed. Something to share with her father the way they had all those years ago.</p><p>And maybe some answers as to why he’d never been able to tell her the story of Mariko and the Prince without a haunted look in his eyes.</p><hr/><p>
  <strong>Several Weeks Later</strong>
</p><p>“You look like you’re off to University, not a week away from home,” a familiar voice quipped as the door swung open to reveal Izumi standing on the front porch, weighed down by bags and books. Though she was still a little queasy from her voyage, Izumi managed to crack a smile.</p><p>“Good to see you too, Auntie Katara,” she replied. She’d told herself to pack light when her father had decided to send her to stay with Katara for a week while he went on a diplomatic visit to the North Pole (“you ought to see a little more of the world,” he had reasoned when she said she’d be perfectly safe at the palace), but she couldn’t resist loading up on books. “I promise there’s a reason for all of this stuff.” Izumi gestured to the overloaded knapsack on her back and the satchel of scrolls at her side.</p><p>This was a rare opportunity to continue her search, after all.</p><p>“Assignments from your tutors?” Katara asked. “They must be working you to death if that’s all homework!”</p><p>“No, it’s a personal project,” Izumi explained, stepping inside.  “About a story that my father used to tell me. He could never remember what it was called or where he found it or even how it ended, but it was my favorite, so I’ve been trying to figure out what it was ever since.”</p><p>“And all of these books-“</p><p>“Are for research,” Izumi finished, following Katara to a neat guest bedroom where she set down her bags. “Cross-referencing. I’ve checked every relevant book and scroll in our library and ordered texts in from all over the place, but I’m no closer to figuring out where the story came from.” She shrugged helplessly. “I was hoping I could ask you.”</p><p>“Well, I won’t have much to do with Aang away and the kids off doing who-knows-what, so…ask away.” Katara turned to her with an encouraging smile. “Pretty impressive that you’ve done all of this work.”</p><p>“Thanks. It just won’t get out of my brain,” Izumi replied. “I was wondering if it might’ve been a Water Tribe story, because I haven’t found many Water Tribe texts.</p><p>“Hm. It could be,” Katara mused. “Want to take a look at it after dinner?”</p><p>Izumi’s eyes lit up. “You’d do that?”</p><p>“Of course.” Katara smiled. “Should be about an hour. How do sea prunes sound?”</p><p>Izumi prayed her face wouldn’t give her away.</p><hr/><p>“It’s pretty messy,” Izumi said, spreading the “Mariko and the Prince” scroll in front of her on the table. Katara peered over at it, squinting. “The story changed a little every time my father told it, and as I got older, he stopped leaving out certain parts that he didn’t want to tell me when I was little, so I kept having to rewrite it.”</p><p>Those changes had resulted in an almost-illegible scroll, additions and revisions marking nearly every sentence of the text and crammed into every margin. (She really needed to make a new reference copy.) In addition to the details her father added with each retelling, she’d fleshed out the writing itself, because she felt that the story that had captured her imagination deserved to be a little more eloquent than her father was capable of making it on the spot; it was a full-blown work of literature now, not that anyone would be able to tell through all that scrawl. So the words had changed, but the story’s integrity had been preserved even if its appearance had not.</p><p>“Mariko and the Prince,” Katara read off the top. “Well, that’s definitely a Fire Nation name-“</p><p>“Oh, no, ignore that. I made it up,” Izumi explained. “Dad didn’t know the characters’ names, so he told me to make up my own. Mariko was a childhood friend.”<br/><br/></p><p>“Ah, I see.” Katara nodded, flipping through one of the books Izumi had pulled out in case it could prove useful for research later. “So do you want to read that mess to me or are you gonna make me decipher it myself?”</p><p>Izumi laughed. She always missed Katara’s bluntness when she hadn’t seen her father’s friends in a while – it was so refreshing. “Sure. So, um. This is ‘Mariko and the Prince.’ Obviously.”</p><p>“Mm-hm.”</p><p>Izumi cleared her throat and began to read.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>MARIKO AND THE PRINCE</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Once upon a time, there was a Prince desperate to atone for the sins of his past. Hearing of a group of powerful benders seeking to bring an end to the war raging in their lands, the Prince sought them out, hoping to join them and, by doing so, bring peace to the world and rest to his conscience. </em> </strong>
</p><p>Izumi paused, glancing up at Katara for any sign of recognition. She looked faintly amused (<em>am I using my theater voice again? </em>Izumi wondered, mildly embarrassed), but didn’t say anything, so Izumi kept reading.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>When the Prince found them, however, not all was well. Though many of the benders and their allies favored his joining their efforts, one – a skilled Firebender named Mariko – did not trust him. She saw the past he was trying to erase and did not want to risk the group’s safety by allowing him to travel with them. But the Prince was determined to win her favor: she was skilled and strong and compassionate and he admired her greatly, so it grieved him to know that she did not believe he could change. </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Thus, the Prince set out to prove his trustworthiness to Mariko and her friends by undertaking a dangerous mission with Mariko. Though the mission did not go as either had expected it to, the Prince succeeded: he had earned Mariko’s forgiveness, and the two soon became not only allies, but close friends. </em> </strong>
</p><p>“He never did say what the mission was,” Izumi said after a pause. Katara’s lips were quirked into a faraway smile – <em>she definitely knows something, </em>Izumi realized – but she didn’t say anything.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>As the two grew closer, the urgency of their mission to put a stop to the conflict increased, and while their friends went to stop the evil man who’d let the war continue, Mariko and the Prince faced his daughter, who shared her father’s goals. Though she tried to end them, they prevailed with each other’s help: each saved the other’s life. And after the battle, when the Prince began to think about Mariko in a new light, not merely as a beautiful girl who’d showed him kindness and trusted him when it was risky, but as his best friend. They’d nearly died for each other, and he began to realize that the girl he’d die for was one he might die without.</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>The Prince, he realized now, was in love. </em> </strong>
</p><p>“My father is very dramatic.” Izumi rolled her eyes, which were still fixed on the paper. “I love this story, but that line about dying without Mariko always makes me want to die a little bit.”</p><p>Then she heard a sharp intake of breath and glanced up, and noted with alarm that Katara’s face had gone pale. She’d pressed a hand to her throat and her eyes were huge, staring at Izumi without really seeing anything. “Did I say something?” Izumi asked, frightened by the vacant stare she’d never seen on her beloved auntie’s face. “Do you want me to stop?”</p><p>“No, it’s fine.” She shook it off, seemingly, and blinked a few times. “Please, keep going.”</p><p>Izumi wanted to press, sure that Katara knew more than she was letting on, but it wasn’t the time. She kept reading.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>But he still couldn’t bring himself to tell Mariko how he felt, for he was still unsure how she felt about him. She was more than he deserved, and he didn’t want to force his feelings on her. And besides, another boy had already confessed his feelings to Mariko, and, though she’d shown glimmers of affection for the Prince, she accepted. So she was gone, and though the Prince wanted his dear friend to be happy more than nearly anything, it hurt to see Mariko with anyone else. So when he was suddenly crowned King, and a girl from his past reappeared and asked if he wanted to take a chance on her, he did. And they pretended to be happy. </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>But years passed, and nothing could make the King forget how he felt about Mariko. He liked to think that Mariko remembered him, too, but only in theory, for he wanted her to be happy with the choice she’d made. That didn’t make it any easier, though, when he received a scroll informing that Mariko was to marry the man she’d chosen over him. He tried to be happy for them with all he had, but he’d often sit at his desk staring at that scroll, wishing it had never arrived. When he arrived to stay with them a few days before their wedding and saw Mariko for the first time in months, running out to meet her best friend with an embrace that felt more relieved than anything, he swore his heart would stop beating.  </em> </strong>
</p><p>“Auntie Katara, are you sure you’re alright?” Izumi set the scroll down. “I promise I’ll stop if this is upsetting…somehow…”</p><p>Katara blinked, a few stray tears falling from her watery eyes. She furiously swiped them away. “No, I want to hear this.”</p><p>“Are you-“</p><p>“It’s just a sad story,” she said, trying to sound gentle but snapping all the same. “Keep reading. Please.”</p><p>Izumi raised her eyebrows, worried about this, but she kept going.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>However, all wasn’t as festive as it seemed. Mariko was nervous, and the night before the wedding was to take place, she sought out her friend and asked if they could talk. They walked together, and she revealed that she was nervous about her impending marriage. She worried that she was making the wrong choice, walking the expected path instead of the one that was true to her heart. She loved her fiancé, but she was unsure if she’d be happy. And though the King attempted to reassure his friend, she cried in his arms, and he realized that nothing had changed since their youth. She was still the love of his life, and though he had resigned himself to seeing her with another, he’d still do anything to give her a chance to be happy with him if she wished to. So she cried, and his robes were stained with her tears. </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>He didn’t take them off before he slept. </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>The next day, Mariko was married, and though she smiled, the King knew his best friend well enough to know that she was still nervous. She wouldn’t speak to him after the ceremony and though he appeared to be happy when he had to be, at first opportunity, he made his way back to his chambers and began to cry as Mariko had the night before, mourning what might have been.</em> </strong>
</p><p>Izumi stood up resolutely and walked to the other side of the table, laying her hands on Katara’s shaking shoulders. She’d only grown more agitated as the story progressed, and now hot, angry tears spilled from her eyes. Her whole body shook with her sobs and Izumi regretted ever bringing up this stupid story if this was what it was going to do to her host. She wasn’t even thinking of the fact that this obviously betrayed a connection to the story that could help her in her search – the sight of cheerful Auntie Katara, who’d always been so happy to see her, shook her too much for that.</p><p>“I’m sorry, Auntie,” she said softly as she rubbed circles against her back as she remembered her father doing when he wanted to comfort him. “What’s wrong? Do you want to talk about it?”</p><p>“No, sweetheart, it’s okay,” she sniffed. “Please, read.”</p><p>“Are you sure? It’s obviously-“</p><p>“Please.”</p><p>Izumi couldn’t exactly refuse.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Soon after, the King himself married, and he loved his wife, though not as he’d loved Mariko. And they were too busy to speak to each other often, which was a mercy in its way. He resigned himself to a friendship that would never grow, grateful to keep Mariko’s light in his life in any way he could. And he never stopped wondering what might have been if he’d told her how he felt. </em> </strong>
</p><p>“And he didn’t tell me how it ended,” she finished, watching Katara, who was still crying, though not as intensely as she had been. “Do…you know that story?”</p><p>“I think I’ve heard it,” Katara said, staring at the table with her hands folded in her lap.</p><p>“You have?” Izumi perked up. “So it <em>is </em>a Water Tribe Story?”</p><p>“You could say that,” Katara sighed, leaning her chin on her palm.</p><p>“Then how does it end?” Izumi asked.</p><p>Katara just looked at her tiredly, as if asking how someone as bright as she was could possibly not get it. “I’m pretty sure that <em>is </em>the end.”</p><hr/><p>Izumi tossed and turned that night after she’d gone to bed, both bothered and exhilarated by the information she’d finally gotten about “Mariko and the Prince.” Something about the way Katara had reacted – so devastated by the love affair of fictional people, and so clearly expecting Izumi to be able to pick up on something she wasn’t getting – made her think there was some obvious puzzle piece she was missing, one she wasn’t going to find in any of her books.</p><p><em>Think, Izumi! </em>She exhorted herself, unable to fall asleep. <em>What would make Katara react like that? Is it a story she knew as a kid? Does it remind her of something? </em></p><p><em>No, </em>Izumi decided. <em>I wouldn’t cry like that at a childhood story, and I don’t know what it would-</em></p><p>
  <em>Wait. </em>
</p><p>Details began to click into place.</p><p>A young Prince with a checkered past. Ending a war-</p><p>“<em>How </em>could I not have seen it?” Izumi yelped, sitting bolt upright. She cringed, realizing Katara might wake up at her outburst, but she couldn’t help it. All that time spent analyzing the texts half to death and she’d missed the most obvious connection imaginable.</p><p>“That story was <em>real,” </em>she whispered, clutching a pillow to her chest in disbelief. “And…it happened to <em>them.” </em></p><p>It finally made sense.</p><p>
  <em>Mariko is Katara and the Prince is my father. </em>
</p><p>A million thoughts raced through her mind and she couldn’t put a single one into words.</p><hr/><p>“Who’s there?” Katara called, opening the door a few days later at a rather insistent knocking. Izumi padded down the hallway from her room, where she’d been packing her bags, and arrived in seeing range of the door just in time to see it swing open to reveal her father waiting on the porch.</p><p>Izumi’s heart leapt. <em>I can finally see if it’s true! </em>She realized, hanging back and retreating into the doorway where they wouldn’t see her.</p><p>“Zuko!” Katara said, her tone warm, if a little embarrassed. “I had no idea you were going to pick up Izumi personally.”</p><p>“Like I’d miss a chance to see you.” He grinned in earnest, not suspecting for a second what his friend had learned while his daughter stayed with her. <em>Sorry, dad, </em>she thought, cringing. She definitely wouldn’t have revealed that information had she realized beforehand that…well. You know. Izumi watched with interest as her father moved to embrace Katara, who threw her arms around his neck as if clinging for dear life. </p><p>They stayed that way for far too long, holding each other tight.</p><p>“I can’t believe it,” Izumi said under her breath. “No <em>way </em>she didn’t feel the same way.”</p><p>Then her stomach plummeted, because she knew now why Katara had cried at her story. She’d wanted something else all along without realizing it until it was too late and now It was standing in front of her.</p><p>And there was nothing to be done.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” she whispered again, and made her way into the entryway to greet her father.</p><hr/><p>
  <strong>Forty Years Later </strong>
</p><p>Katara hadn’t seen Zuko since the funeral. It had been entirely too long.</p><p>“I missed you,” she admitted into the collar of his heavy parka almost as soon as he stepped off his ship. She could say that now, she realized, knowing what she did, being where she was. </p><p>“You too,” he replied, squeezing her shoulders. And she didn’t have to be told that he was dying to get inside where it was warm, so she took him, and for a while they just sat together, silent, enjoying each other’s long-overdue company. But Katara’s mind was racing and she finally remembered something she’d meant to ask him for a long time.</p><p>“Zuko?” she asked.</p><p>“Mm-hm?” he looked over at her, his eyes impossibly gentle – impossibly <em>tender, </em>she realizes.</p><p>“Is it true?”</p><p>“Is what true?” he angled his body towards hers.</p><p>“That you cried at my wedding,” she said softly, staring into her steaming drink mug. Her hand moves to cover his.</p><p>Zuko doesn’t say anything for a moment, but then he raises his head again, and she meets his eyes.</p><p>“I did,” he admitted.</p><p>Katara met his eyes as all the grief and regret of fifty years flashed through a five-second glance shared between two people who took the long road towards meant-to-be.</p><p>“So did I.”</p><p>And this time they break together. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A little closure. (Reader request)</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This was supposed to be a oneshot, but @Casutama asked for a few more scenes, so I whipped up a little extension because I must oblige my dear readers ;)</p><p>Also. This is in a different tense than the other chapter. I KNOW. Please just ignore it, I’m weird like that.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Izumi is uncharacteristically silent on the return trip, and Zuko is surprised to find that he has to prod her for information she’d usually volunteer freely. She’s silent, staring vacantly at the book open on her lap, until he finally decides to do something about it.</p><p><br/>
“How was your trip, Zooms?” he asks her, hoping the playful nickname will warm her chilly temperament a bit. “Make any progress with the story?”</p><p> </p><p>(He hates talking about this story, hates dredging up the past, hates letting her go off on a wild goose chase for answers that he could end by simply telling her the truth, hates the feeling that he’s lying to her by feigning ignorance whenever she asks him about the story she’s been obsessed with since she was eight. But her intelligent analysis is so impressive, and her dedication even moreso, and she’s so passionate about it – he can’t begrudge her of that.)</p><p> </p><p>Izumi looks up from her book with a calculating expression that is <span class="s2">pure </span>Mai, and for a moment, she doesn’t say anything. Then she speaks up.</p><p> </p><p>“You could’ve saved me a lot of time, you know,” she says, narrowing her eyes, and Zuko feels like he’s entering free fall because he just <span class="s2">knows </span>what she’s about to say.</p><p> </p><p>“So you finally figured it out?” he sighs. Zuko knows she’s right, but at least he doesn’t have to pretend anymore. He pauses, watching her expression as it shifts.</p><p> </p><p>It’s pensive for a moment, considering what to tell him, and then it sinks in that she knows he knows, and all of the sudden Izumi’s on the defensive. “I didn’t mean to do it!” she cries, her blank expression turning mildly panicked now that she realizes what she’s said. “I swear, I never would’ve asked Auntie Katarafor help if I’d realized what the story was about and she <span class="s2">knows </span>now and I’m so, <span class="s2">so </span>sorry and-“</p><p> </p><p>“You <span class="s2">what?” </span></p><p> </p><p>“You and Auntie Katara,” Izumi says, still breathing hard. She looks like she’s about to cry as it finally sinks in that she’s inadvertently confessed her father’s decades-long unrequited feelings on his behalf. “It’s <span class="s2">you. </span>I should’ve seen that. But I didn’t know before, so I wanted to ask Katara if it was a Water Tribe story or something, because if it was, she might know something I didn’t,” Izumi explained. “But then as I read it she started acting weird. Like…she knew something.”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko’s a little more concerned about that last detail than any of the extremely pressing things his daughter revealed in the previous sentences. “Acting weird how?” he presses, not even attempting to disguise the flush in his face or the urgency in his voice.</p><p><br/>
Izumi giggles even though she knows she’s probably still in trouble. “You’re so <span class="s2">obvious,” </span>she notes, shaking her head. “I can’t believe I spent all that time looking and never <span class="s2">once </span>had it occur to me that it actually-“</p><p> </p><p>“But <span class="s2">how </span>was she acting weird?”</p><p><br/>
Now Izumi rolls her eyes. “I don’t know, just…getting weirdly emotional.” Then her face falls. “She started to cry about halfway through. Then when I got to the part where you cry at her wedding she just <span class="s2">sobbed. </span>I was really freaked out.”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko’s face is ashen and beet-red at the same time, something Izumi would have doubted was possible before she saw it. “Is she all right? Did-“</p><p> </p><p>“Daddy,” Izumi sighs. Now it’s her turn to be flabbergasted by his lack of understanding. “She wasn’t crying because she was <span class="s2">upset. </span>She was crying because <span class="s2">she loved you</span><span class="s2"> too</span>.”</p><p> </p><p>“No, she doesn’t,” Zuko protested weakly. “She has Aang. She’s never-“</p><p> </p><p>“Now you’re just being dense,” Izumi says, moving to the other side of the palanquin to sit next to her father. She leans her head against his shoulder affectionately and he kisses the crown of her head. It’s almost a reflex at this point but his heart swells this time for this daughter of his – terrifyingly smart and scarily-determined, headstrong but empathetic, everything he could want in a young princess and somehow more. He barely has the heart to be upset that she’s let the cat-owl out of the bag. “You really think a girl would cry at her wedding ‘cause she was madly in love with the guy she was marrying? Of course she wouldn’t.”</p><p> </p><p>“She was just nervous!” Zuko protested, nonetheless hoping she was right.</p><p> </p><p>“Fine, then.” Izumi crosses her arms, not giving up. “Do you think she’d have cried twenty years later over a fictional character – who’s actually her, except I didn’t know it at the time – if she didn’t regret never getting to be with you?”</p><p> </p><p>The words almost sting and as much as his heart races – <span class="s2">please, please, please, </span>it thumps insistently – Zuko hopes it isn’t true. Her happiness is what he wants most, and he loathes the thought that her years have been fraught with the same loneliness that he’s felt, wishing he’d had a chance to make things turn out differently. “I don’t know,” he admits, and Izumi snuggles under his arm. “I just don’t know.”</p><p> </p><p>She wraps her arms around him, her chin resting on his shoulder, and replies, “she loves you, Daddy. And I’m sorry, but I’m kindaglad she knows.”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko doesn’t say anything to that, wrapping his arms around Izumi in return, but deep down he agrees.</p><p> </p><p>He’ll never speak of this and he knows she won’t bring it up, but he can’t deny that he’s found peace in a little corner of his heart that never stopped wondering if Katara had ever felt the same way.</p>
<hr/><p>Zuko doesn’t sleep well that night. <br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Izumi’s confession replays in his mind and he can’t stop thinking about what it might all mean, if her certainty that Katara felt the same way was founded. Maybe she was crying because she was offended that her dear friend would tell another woman’s daughter that she was the only one he’d ever truly loved-</p><p>But no, she’d been so happy to see him. It couldn’t be that, could it? <br/>
<br/>
</p><p>But he almost wished Izumi was wrong even so. The alternative, after all, was knowing he’d let a chance slip through his fingers and couldn’t get it back. And that sends him spiraling into hypothetical scenarios and what-ifs that he’s spent years trying not to dwell on. <br/>
<br/>
He imagines a life where he told her how he felt before she’d made up her mind. He imagines kissing her the day she saved his life, pictures her in wedding regalia, thinks about ruling beside a Fire Lady as capable as he and far more dedicated to their people. these sheets aren’t so empty and these halls aren’t so silent and izumi has the brothers and sisters she begged for as a child. She’s still the first, in this world, because Izumi is the one thing he wouldn’t change for the world and it suits her. </p><p>And he hates himself a little bit for being so quick to discard the few good years he shared with Mai, but he can’t help but imagine a past in which baby Izumi opened blue eyes instead of gold ones.</p><p>(They’re the same ones he sees in his mind before he finally drifts off.)</p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>Forty-One Years Later</strong>
</p><p>Izumi pulls her father into a fierce hug as soon as she gets a free moment with him after the ceremony. </p><p>She says nothing and means everything. She notices after a moment that the shoulder of her gown is soaked through. <br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“Are you crying?” Izumi asks, finally breaking the silence. <br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Her father chuckles. “Isn’t it fitting?” <br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“Extremely.” Izumi smiles, though he can’t see it. “Guess I’m going to have to dig out that old scroll for a rewrite, now that I know the ending.” <br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“You do that.” <br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Neither chooses to mention the fact that things may not have transpired this way had fifteen-year-old Izumi not been so captivated by her favorite story from childhood, but Izumi can’t resist after a moment. “You’re lucky your daughter was such a nerd, you know,” she says.</p><p> </p><p>”I am.” Zuko squeezes her shoulders. “I’m glad you finally figured out how it ended.” <br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“I’m just glad the Prince finally got his act together,” she says lightly, trying not to sound as close to tears as she is. “And that I was right about Mariko.” <br/>
<br/>
</p><p>”That you were.” Katara leans against the doorway. “Now if you don’t mind, Izumi, I need to steal your father for a moment-“ </p><p>“Of course!” Izumi practically shoves Zuko in her new stepmother’s direction and he doesn’t have to be told twice. <br/>
<br/>
</p><p>She watches them leave, a fond smile on her face, and wonders what her younger self would think if she knew that this was how the story of Mariko and her Prince would end. <br/>
<br/>
</p><p>She thinks that Izumi would be pleased. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Okay this may not be my best work but you CANNOT tell me that the symbolism of Izumi’s search for closure about that story mirroring Zuko’s search for closure about the events of said story? Isn’t at least a *little* poetic. </p><p>...no?</p><p>Also, I gotta say, even if she's so OOC that she's essentially an OC, I LOVE this version of Izumi. There's a reason the lit analysis section of this fic is the strongest, and it's probably bc she's a very extra baby English major and I STAN her.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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